Rest assured this rejection letter is not a rejection letter

 

It’s hilarious when you don’t get in to a poetry writing workshop and the letter says something like “We hope you will not take this news as a rejection.”

I get it that the acceptance rate was low. Yet I still immediately think to myself, okay maybe that’s not the workshop for me, anyway.

Because let’s zoom in on that. “We hope you will not take this news as a rejection.” When in fact, that’s EXACTLY what it is. A rejection. Hahahahahaha

This is exactly what’s wrong with everything that’s …. not right. Why can’t we use the correct word? Why can’t we call something exactly what it is? Otherwise just don’t bring up the word at all. That’s better than advising us against using the exact specific most appropriate word. Which is rejection.

Why is rejection so bad? I’m not afraid of this word anymore.

If we could use our words better, think how much easier it would be to call out so much bullshit. “Wow, so fucking misogynistic.” “Total ignorance.” Or “I’m so tired of channel 4 subjecting us to these stupid ass plastic surgery commercials (which they don’t want to call commercials) right in the middle of news hour. Give me a fucking break!!”

Can’t we just call that shit now? Instead of pretending like we didn’t just hear what we heard, see what we saw. We may act impervious but we’re not stupid. Tell me you’re not pissed off too on a daily basis on the inside, about the manipulations we’re forced to defend ourselves against almost every waking hour. That’s the real rejection btw. That’s the shit to be raging against the machine about.

Let’s talk more about the poetry world for a sec. Word choice is the job of the poet more than any other kind of artist, at least in theory. We need to find the right words. Yet who is most afraid of words? Poets? Mincing or avoiding words because of diplomacy, because of feelings, because of too much disempowerment? But this is exactly why we’re not even in the game, in society. These are the world’s smartest people with words !! but their words !! locked up in the university, confined to political correctness and/or garden-variety office politics.  It’s a shame.

Is the poetry world too above the drama of lesser societies, too above the divisiveness and polemical discussions running rampant everywhere else, perhaps too enlightened for all that? Let’s remind ourselves that part of enlightenment also involves making a big giant fucking MESS.

If we could all handle just a little more rejection, if we could get more fired up about shit and speak freely and disagree freely, if we could start worrying more about principles and less about being IN with the powers that be, then maybe we’d have more relevance and influence. Just a thought.

Next time you write my rejection letter, you might give me some version of “Better luck next time,” which is totally fine by me, as it should be. And say whatever else you want, but please be advised of the significance of claims such as “this rejection letter is not a rejection” which is basically what that boils down to.  It’s unnecessary to try so hard to please, it’s making us all look bad.

Because I already know the real reasons for the rejection letter anyway, and it doesn’t have to be such a big deal in the grand scheme of things.  And for those who don’t know the reasons, here they are.  “We are rejecting your application because we don’t like your writing, or because there are too many writers whose work we like and it’s a lottery, or because our selection process is rigged, or because your writing doesn’t speak to our interests or agenda, or maybe because your writing is actually better than we think it is.”

“In short, this rejection likely has nothing to do with you. Except in the event that your writing really does actually suck that bad, which is unlikely. Especially if you had enough connections in the field to be aware that this workshop even existed and enough experience to have the balls to apply here.”

Dear writers, dear readers, publishers, workshop hosts. Rest assured, we don’t need to worry about not getting in anymore. I’m not worried. If you reject my writing and/or me, I’ll just take it elsewhere. Like here. Or here. Or here. (Just kidding, I’m not linking my other blogs. Not now, they have pictures and we’re not fucking doing that here, yo).

 

 

 

 

this blog is bare bones for a reason

Actually on the other platform it was even more simple. Didn’t waste time choosing a theme, I just went with the default. I love that. Like a skeleton. Not even trying to get the perfect look, just basic.

Because this isn’t about having an image gallery.

It’s not about blowing it up with pictures of my bootie as if that’s all I should ever need to say.

The other platform isn’t even up to current standards. That’s why it was perfect. There’s something attractive about it, but plain. It was built for words.

Plain is what I wanted.

The type was tiny. Not bold, puffed up, artificially-enlarged like everything else we have to live with, ugh. I’m so tired of feeling burned by everyone’s flash.

I want plain to be okay. Because underneath all the other garbage, that’s what I need to allow myself to be. Fancy is unforgiving. Let some typos stay, like wrinkles. I want no money spent, no SEO obsession, no publishing this shit at the “right” times, to express this. How about when the moment strikes, I just start typing? How about whenever I feel like it, I press send?

The billions of pictures are so loud it’s like pollution, yeah duh. Not just picture pollution though, but luxury pollution. I wanted to go off-grid in the internet world. I wanted to be able to say I went for the default theme on the most modest, understated, and least glossy platform. But if the whole point is to write in public, the other platform kinda sucks for that because nobody goes there because it’s not a fucking image gallery. Right?

I find myself bringing the stuff back here. It seems more people visit here and I do like the interface.  I’d picked the most straightforward theme and set up in maybe an hour and I’m starting to like it. Even though I already miss the other place. My eyes felt like resting. It was nice.

The last time I launched a new blog, I might as well have been planning a wedding. That’s what happens when looks are everything, in your head of everyone else’s hearts.

 

 

 

 

And this deserves its own post

I text my friend who witnessed the whole thing because she was actually sitting at his table in the group and she said “that would have made me super uncomfortable.”  Along with a “well, he’s out of control, what can ya do?” type of comment with a shrug emoji.  Cause that’s how we usually deal with this crap.  Politely.  We understand.  We are diplomatic.  

Can’t you just let me be???

Wow.  I am not fucking around here, folks.

Today I actually had the thought: wow well yesterday I had all these things to say on this blog but this morning I didn’t.  Even though I had the time to write, more time than yesterday. 

And then I thought, I’m just not even feeling the need to write, here.  Why?  Maybe because I feel pretty today, I feel more attractive today than I felt yesterday, so today I’m in the game.  I’m in the fucking game. 

All I did was wake up, throw on jeans and a tee and sandals, no makeup, no fussing around with the hair.  So yeah that’s my state of mind.  And I didn’t even have to buy anything. 

Am I seriously thinking that if I feel pretty today, that I suddenly have nothing to say?  That’s how easy it is to placate me with that shit? 

Damn. 

And then I was approached again.  By some dude.  Not for a date, just because for whatever reason this local dude just has to have my attention.  Just has to. 

Every time I see this guy.  I’m sitting alone in the cafe working, writing, drawing, thinking, and minding my own damn business.  He’s sitting at some other table with his friends and recognizes me through mutual acquaintances although we don’t actually know each other.  Even though I have nothing to do with their group at all, he seems to have taken a shine to me.  He spontaneously barks over advice at me about where I should get up and move to sit out of the direct sun.  I’m actually enjoying the direct sun so I tell him I’m perfectly fine thanks.  Then for next thirty to forty-five minutes he periodically shouts stuff in my direction, like his opinion about my tee shirt to his friends, he stares at me and intentionally tries to catch my gaze, he talks over people at me even though I’m clearly disengaged.  I’m not sure what the attraction is, maybe it’s because I refuse to comply with the demand to be tended to, or refuse to be gracious toward the behavior.  I simply ignore it because I didn’t come here for this.  I came here to enjoy myself, not to humor or entertain some guy.  Then as I get up to leave he leans forward, thrusts a hand up into the air, and shouts over everyone to me, “IT’S BEEN A PLEASURE.” as I run out the door as fast as I can away from his cluelessness / dumb ass.

It’s not always about being cute, it’s about power.  It’s the same old shit in the street for our whole life.  That shit like: Smile, sweetie.  Can I get a smile?  Give daddy some attention.  Smile for me.  Fuck you !!!  Fuck off, bro!!!

And now I’m fucking pissed off again. Leave me alone !!! 

 

Why can’t you just leave me alone !!!

 

Just LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE !!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Those Women I Want to Be

Cute.  Squirrels jumping trees, the branches swishing noisily, playfully.  I do love living here. 

I like my job and I couldn’t always say that.  This is all new.  The hourly is good. I work many half-days but that’s a blessing in disguise.

What I don’t like is being in debt.  That’s really what inspired this blog. Because there’s something taboo about the talk of money. And about what kind of opportunity we really have and don’t have, realistically.

What I don’t like is being single, feeling like I want to go out on dates and look pretty, but I can’t afford to look pretty, that’s the truth. 

What I don’t like is expressing this angst, anger, frustration, whatever, about the way we’re treated and it’s not cute, it’s not what we’re supposed to do and nobody wants to hear it.  We’re supposed to put up gorgeous pictures of ourselves, make ourselves look good at any expense.  Any expense. 

Everything we have, if we have to.   

I saw this woman on Sunday and she looked absolutely gorgeous.  I wanted to look like her, but I had to check myself.  How much would I have to pay to look like that?  I know the cost of hair in a quality salon around here.  Hers looked to be about $300-$500 for cut and color with ombre (her hair was quite long).  It looked fantastic on her.  That makeup, those clothes.  She looked so sexy and alluring.  How much would I have to spend on all that?  And how much time would I have to put into that? 

I used to be like this.  I used to put in the money and the effort, even when I was broke.  I found the money for my appearance.  And now I regret it.  Not that I did what I wanted to do, but I regret the times I really was broke, yet feeling like my appearance was so important that I would give up meager resources of money and time when I really had neither.  It seems like such a waste. 

If I actually have the money, perhaps that would be different?  Sort of.  Only in the sense that it wouldn’t be quite as stupid.  But right now I really don’t.  I have to accept myself as I am.  And yeah it’s a choice, too. I’m simply not going to scrounge up that money. I’m simply not going to choose my appearance over financial freedom. It’s not worth it. The extra boost of superficial attention will not be worth it.

Someone might say, well maybe I’m just repressing my sexuality and femininity by rejecting beauty and fashion.  But those industries are making so much money off me, so much and the truth is I don’t have the money, I don’t have the resources.  How many are like me?  And how many are like the old me, spending what I really didn’t have just to feel worthy and valuable? 

I’m mad because this culture makes me feel like I have to spend all this money on my appearance just because I’m a woman, or else.  If men don’t have to thread their eyebrows, why should I?  I’m broke.  Let’s be real here. 

I don’t believe beauty can be cheap.  Nothing is cheap when you have debt.  Every extra dollar you spend is just more interest you’re paying to some ginormous company, adding to its millions and billions of dollars.  They are taking your money.  What’s left for you?  Don’t tell me the beauty industry is for me.  Don’t even tell me these college loans were for me, all these profits they’re making off of us.  LOL !!!!!! 

I’m going to work now.  My hair looks terrible, I desperately need a new style.  But I’m not spending even $38.00 for that right now, at least not until these credit card bills are paid.  The credit card bills are the first to tackle. Four thousand eight hundred and fifty dollars total.

Some part of me is dying to be those women, all those type of women I see, some part of me is dying to play the fool, but it truly is all bullshit. 

I’m diving right in

with little to no explanation. 

I’ve been out there, pouring my heart out to strangers and feeling like a freak but also just feeling like i’m right. 

I’m not oging to get organizded in this blog, I’m not gooing to be organized, stay organized when I get there, I’m just going to blurt this shit out out. 

As it comes. 

It’s going to be unprofessional, messy, maybe even

ugly.  At times.  Unlike other recent writings, the poetry and the essays and the stories, this is not for editing.  This is not for getting it right. 

This is not for making it look good.